


if thine be the glory

by septuagint



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Choking, M/M, Masochism, Sadism, Sibling Incest, because otherwise anything under being set the fuck on fire would just make him giggle, dear maitimo is a mess, it is convenient that the valar took maitimo's pain tolerance, makalaure breaks his own heart singing for the Drama, unfortunate anal sex practices, which would be inconvenient for the kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 15:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14718648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septuagint/pseuds/septuagint
Summary: Makalaurë sings about war and winter. The gallows. The beauty of his weapons. The countless bodies starting to rot on the beach as the sun rises. Cold hands, a voice begging to be let in. (Metal turns brittle in the cold; glass doesn’t. They didn’t know that, once.) He sings with cold rage and a distant stare. He has not lost either when Maitimo meets him outside.





	if thine be the glory

Makalaurë sings about war and winter. The gallows. The beauty of his weapons. The countless bodies starting to rot on the beach as the sun rises. Cold hands, a voice begging to be let in. (Metal turns brittle in the cold; glass doesn’t. They didn’t know that, once.) He sings with cold rage and a distant stare. He has not lost either when Maitimo meets him outside. They walk, Maitimo trailing a little. He’s scared of Cáno like this– he’s scared of himself like this too, they all get like this.  
   
The walk home is silent. Cáno radiates the need to destroy him to pay for their sins, and Nelyo is inclined to indulge him. They do have so very many sins to pay for, after all.  
   
Makalaurë turns to him as he’s unlocking their front door. Considering, careful, inquisitive. He closes his eyes and nods. Makalaurë doesn’t smile. His eyes are still unfocused. Maitimo anticipates, helplessly. What’s one more sin, what’s one more sin after all we’ve done.  
   
He was reborn because he _repented_ , reborn soft and young and free of scars. So as not to let the marks of the world enter the undying lands, he did not say to Námo, although he probably heard nonetheless. It is said that he can see the entirety of the souls of the dead. They’d made it through the end of the world and now they were remade fresh, memories present but their consequences removed with a scalpel. Some of their brothers had stayed in the Halls, fighting for their right to remain themselves. Maedhros had taken his life out of a genuine belief that he should not exist, and continued to adhere to that belief in death. Amrod was the lucky one; he burned before doing anything truly unforgivable.  
   
Cáno catches his bitterness and hands him a bottle. Commands him to drink. Shoves the end down his throat until he chokes, alcohol burning.  
   
“Only one of us can be lost in the past tonight, dear brother,” Cáno tells him. “I want you right here to feel what I do to you,” he doesn’t say. Maitimo (still his Maitimo, always his Maitimo) shudders slightly.  
   
Cáno kisses him. It’s almost, almost like their normal kisses. Almost. His eyes darken and he’s terrified. His hands are bound and Cáno’s go to his throat, to cover his mouth. They stare at each other hungrily for about a minute before Nelyo’s lungs start to spasm. Twenty seconds. He’s struggling, actually struggling, and he can’t get away, not with his hands tied. Ten seconds. He loses strength, or perhaps hope, until he’s just looking Cáno in the eyes, pleading. Five seconds. Tears spill down his cheeks. Makalaurë hisses that he looks beautiful crying. _My Maitimo_. Maitimo cries harder. His brother sneers and rolls his eyes, a gesture which will hurt him more than anything else they do tonight, and lets him go. He collapses on Cáno’s chest, gasping for breath.  
   
“Strip, Nelyo.” There’s a sardonic ‘Nelyafinwë’ a breath from reality.  
   
His hands shake. He manages it reasonably quickly.  
   
“Kneel. Eyes closed.”  
   
He drops to the ground at Makalaurë‘s feet, his body hot and desperate and aching. A blindfold is tied over his eyes. It’s a soft cloth he favors. His heart pangs with love.  
   
He’s still trying to catch his breath when Cáno’s cock is at his lips, and then Cáno expertly threads a hand through his hair and twists just so and he makes a quiet broken sound and sucks. Cáno pushes him down and he’s never been happier to do what he’s told, feels so whole— Cáno pulls away and he keens at the loss. Hears a harsh laugh, “stay”, a few steps— the impact of a whip on his back makes him double over for a moment, and then Makalaurë helps him up, leads him over to his desk, pushes aside notebooks full of music, shoves his brother down over it.  
   
He sobs the second time the whip hits him, across the back of his thighs. The fucking Valar took his fucking pain tolerance – the only thing that ties him to the world is his brother’s hand on the back of his neck – Cáno grinds against him and he pushes back, greedy, chasing the sensation. Cáno laughs, cold, and tells him to beg.  
   
“It’s going to hurt, but you want that, don’t you. Beg.”  
   
Inarticulate pleas spill from Maitimo’s lips, broken nonsense. “Please, I need— Cáno, Cáno, I need you, _please_ , please—”  
   
“You’re going to have to be more specific, dear heart.”  
   
“Cáno, Cáno, Cáno, take me, destroy me,” a yelp when the whip hits him again, “Need you to fuck me, Cáno, brother, need you to hurt me, please...”  
   
This is apparently good enough, because Cáno thrusts into him. It hurts. Nelyo’s vision blurs. He tries not to whimper, although Cáno ignores the sounds of pain anyway – shifts slightly and fireworks go off in his head and he doesn’t care that it hurts anymore, moaning like he’s forgotten how not to.  
   
The need to destroy seeps out of Cáno as his sweet Maitimo starts to fall apart on his cock.  
   
He pulls back, squeezing Maitimo’s thigh when he sobs in protest at the loss, and turns him over, slightly apologetic. Pulls him into his arms, fucks him too slow and whispers how good he is, how perfect, how much he loves him, how wonderful he’s been tonight. Maitimo comes, shaking and writhing and utterly silent. He suddenly understands the death analogies. He feels his brother spill inside him and clings.

He keeps shaking for long minutes as Cáno picks him up, whispering endearments and praise, and carries him to a bath. 

When he wakes the next morning the first thing he notices is that his whole body hurts. The second thing he notices is that his brother brought him breakfast in bed. 

Cáno dotes ludicrously on him for over a week, which is entirely unnecessary. It is also utterly lovely, so he doesn’t mention the lack of necessity. Cáno is, of course, well aware.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfiction I've written in I think five years and I'm terrified. Edit: please leave a comment it's _my first fic_.


End file.
